JMRD2: Of Charms and Chickens
by Lilac Reverie
Summary: John & Mike & Rose & Donna, Part Two: to be a collection of snapshots, drabbles, and shorts about our foursome's life in the Alternate Universe, before they make it back home to ours.
1. As Is

"**As Is"**

There is a very interesting clause floating around the real estate world, one which, if unnoticed in the various contracts and offers, can cause no end of trouble.

"As Is."

In this case, not only was it noticed, it was gleefully insisted upon by the buyer of the old Hastings estate. The old farmhouse had been in the Hastings family for over three hundred years, passed down from generation to generation, even as the land surrounding the house and close buildings was slowly sold off. When the last Hastings, a lifelong bachelor with no heirs whatsoever, died at the age of ninety-two, he left the creaky old three-story white elephant crammed to the rafters with decades, if not centuries, of _stuff:_ furniture, clothes, toys, tools, farming implements, fishing and hunting gear, sports and hobbies equipment, paintings, books, papers, bedding, linens, crockery, silver, china, gewgaws and gimcracks and thingamabobs and mold and dust bunnies. And that was just the house. The barn, carriage house, garden shed, even the chicken coop were the unfortunate repositories of even more piles and boxes.

When the estate agent had first walked through it, she had nearly cried. It would take more money to pay someone to haul it all away, not to mention cleaning what was left, than the entire place was worth. And there was just no telling, really, how sound the structure itself was until that had been done. She was sorely tempted to just bulldoze the whole thing and sell the land alone.

Nevertheless, she decided to take a chance and list it, "As Is", at literally a bargain basement price. Caveat majorly emptor. If nobody nibbled by the following spring, she'd call in the wrecking crew.

So it was that she was flabbergasted when a mysterious Mrs Smith called her up out of the blue one day and made an offer, for just eighty percent of the asking price. The agent was about to haggle, just out of habit, when Mrs Smith dropped those two other magic words in real estate. "In cash."

"Sold. Uh, you know it's 'As Is', right? All current contents included, no promises of any kind made about the structural integrity, etc? Have you even _seen_ it?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished them back. But then, Mrs Smith said she had, and she understood, and in fact, "As Is" was absolutely perfect. It would give her husband and his brother a hobby, something to keep them occupied.

Sensing that said husband and brother might be as eccentric as the late Mr Hastings, the agent decided to say no more, and simply accepted the offer. She worked like mad the next few days, ramming through all the required inspections and document searches, in order to get to the closing table as soon as possible.

She had a serious shock on closing day, when she met Mrs Smith face-to-face for the first time, and recognized her as the mysterious adopted daughter of the legendary Pete Tyler – she should have haggled, after all. But it was far too late then, and after a bit she shrugged – glad to have gotten rid of the white elephant with so little trouble, after all, and for cash!, rather than have the fish slip off the hook. She might never have gotten even this good a deal again.


	2. Memories in Silver and Gold

**Memories in Silver and Gold**

On the day they explored Lisbon on their Grand Tour, Mike bought Donna a surprise gift. They'd spent several hours wandering down the streets in the old town, past all the various shops selling souvenirs and sweets, junk and jewelry, and stopped for lunch at one of the outdoor cafes. Afterward, Donna just wanted to sit for a while and watch the crowds – her feet hurt from all the walking, but she didn't want to admit it – so he grinned at her and said he'd be back shortly.

Actually, it was almost an hour later that he finally returned, and she wasn't at all sure she'd ever speak to him again for scaring her like that. When he quietly placed a small box on the table in front of her, though, she thought she _might_ forgive him; then she opened it up and all doubt was gone.

He'd put together a charm bracelet back on the Rua da Prata – the Street of Silver. "But you have to guess what each charm means," he grinned.

First was a tiny silver book. "That one's easy – the Library!" she said.

Next was a snowflake. "Ummm – gimme a hint?"

"Where was the coldest place we visited?"

"The Ood Planet!"

"Right you are."

"OK, the bee I get – Agatha Christie! But a _spider?_"

"They didn't have one with a humanoid head."

"Oh! The Racnoss Empress! Now, what's this? A baby?_"_

"A reeeeally chubby one."

"Oh, snap! The Adipose babies!"

"You're getting good at this. One more to go."

"A car – that's for this trip, isn't it?" He nodded. She smiled hugely at him. "All our best adventures. I love it." She held out her arm so he could snap it around her wrist.

Over the next few weeks, he continued to buy her charms to commemorate past adventures or the places the stopped on their Grand Tour: a tiny replica of the Giralda of Sevilla, an Islamic moon and star for Cordoba, a tiny dog – with a nose – for Barcelona, an Ace of Spades for Monaco, even a miniscule Colosseum for Rome. Nor did he stop when the Tour was over; it became his habit to add a charm in celebration of every momentous occasion – and many rather less than momentous ones, as well.

Her instant and lifelong favorite, however, was the one he gave her on their wedding day: a filigree gold heart. "Took me a while to figure out why I only have one now. I gave the other one to you."


	3. Battlefield

**Battlefield **

The Doctor was at war.

It was an undeclared war, a stealth war, but war nevertheless. His adversary was cunning and ruthless, and had some very important allies: the other members of John's own family. However, he didn't let that faze him. He had no doubt he would eventually triumph. The fact that he had to operate entirely under their collective radar only added spice to the situation.

Stepping out the back door of the farmhouse, John paused and narrowed his eyes. The enemy was strutting up the walk, bold as brass, as if he owned the place. John watched him, seething. He didn't dare take him on just then; Rose was at the kitchen sink, just beyond the window to his right. He simply had to endure the humiliation.

His enemy checked, seeing him. Then, perhaps perceiving his safeguard at the window, he came boldly on. If anything, his strut became even more pronounced, and he passed within a yard of John, daring him to do something about it.

John turned and watched him veer off towards the flower bed at the far end of the patio. "You're fricassee," he hissed.

Sir Robert the Rooster was singularly unimpressed.

***

It all began with that box of baby chicks. John really should have realized what was coming when Donna decided to clean the junk out of the old chicken coop, but he hadn't been paying attention. The next day, she came in from the local farmer's market with a cardboard box with a dozen day-old chicks. Cute, fluffy, yellow, cheeping, innocent little monsters.

The women, even Mike, were clustered around the box, grinning and playing with the chicks. John stayed several feet back, glaring reproachfully at his twin. When Mike glanced around and caught his eye, he was momentarily confused, then simply grinned wickedly and snickered.

"You don't like chickens?" John looked mournfully at his wife and simply shook his head. Mike started to laugh harder, then "Buk-buk-buk-buk-bukAWW!" John closed his eyes and shuddered.

"You _really_ don't like chickens! Why not?" Rose wanted to know.

"_You_ try being chased for three days, then treed for a day and a half, by a seven-foot purple carnivorous chicken with razor-sharp fangs and see how _you_ like them after!" came the affronted reply.

Unfortunately, if he was expecting sympathy for that revelation, he came to the wrong crowd. All three of them were soon rolling on the floor. Mike continued to cluck at his twin.

"I hate you," John told him, turned on his heel and stalked out the door.

***

It hadn't been so bad while the chicks were little. And most of them did grow into safe, fluttery, ignorable, egg-laying hens. But one....

One had the deplorable taste to grow up into a strutting, cawing little monster rooster. The fact that he was only eighteen inches high did nothing to improve his standing in John's eyes. Sir Robert, as the others named him, developed as great an antipathy for the Doctor as the Doctor held for him. In fact, Sir Robert would go out of his way to antagonize John, darting at him, pecking at his feet or knees, and then streaking out of reach to perch on some unreachable tree branch or rooftop to crow his victory for the entire farm to hear.

And guess whose window he chose to sit underneath to announce each dawn without fail? (Not that John slept much; he _was_ still a Time Lord, but whenever he did catch a nap, he was _inevitably_ woken up by the monster. Plus, Sir Robert kept waking up Rose, and she _did_ need her sleep. Late pregnancy is rough enough without losing any more sleep than necessary, and John would naturally have preferred to keep her as un-grumpy as possible.)

However, the other three humans apparently _liked_ the little monster, and would go so far as to defend his existence. They even _named_ the beast, much to John's dismay. He was forced to go underground in his quest to vanquish his enemy.

Just one round in the barn, when he thought he had the rooster cornered in a horse stall, only to find himself a moment later sprawled on the ground nothing to show for it but a mouthful of hay and a single feather, convinced him that a full frontal assault would get him nowhere. He was going to have to be as crafty as his adversary to gain the upper wing, er, hand.

The war was on.


	4. I'll Take Stuck Here

**I'll Take Stuck Here**

A week or so after they moved in, Rose and Donna were working together in one of the two master bedrooms, methodically going through the boxes and piles. Rose kept glancing at the other woman, then finally made herself speak up.

"Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"Um. I... I want to apologize. To you." Donna looked at her, befuddled. Rose took another deep breath and went on. "For what happened when we landed up in Norway. For what I did. I got us all stuck here in this world. And I'm sorry. I'm really, truly sorry."

Donna's face had gone from befuddlement to astonishment. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

This wasn't going well. "No, I'm not kidding. I got you stuck. I–"

Donna cut her off. "I don't mean that. I mean about apologizing. Rose..." She came over to where the younger woman was sitting and knelt down, taking both her hands. "I know what happened on the beach. Mike told me all about it – gave me a 'play by play', practically. And I'm _not_ angry about it." She shook her head, grinning.

"I mean, _think_ about it," she went on. "If you hadn't delayed us till the walls closed, where would we all be? You'd be here, with Mike – good for you! But what about me and the Doctor? He'd be off somewhere, all alone, without you, mourning you again – and even a blind man can see how wrapped up he is in you.

"And me? I'd be back in Chiswick, living at Mum's, _temping_. All alone. With no memories at all to hold me. I'd be nothing. Nobody. A big ball of hurt.

"Instead... look at me. I've got the most wonderful husband in the world – in any world. And we're trying to have a family. I'd given up on that idea, you know. I didn't think it would ever happen.

"Oh, Rose. I don't want or need your apology. Instead, I owe _you_ a huge debt of gratitude. Even if we never make it back, I've still got an absolutely fantastic life ahead of me. Thanks to you." She reached out, then, and gathered Rose up in a huge bear hug. "Thank you," she whispered.

Rose's smile finally broke out, relief and happiness flooding through her. "Yeah, it did work out pretty well, didn't it?"

Donna sat back again and smiled back. "Yeah. It did. I'll take stuck here any day."


	5. One Thousand Ways

**One Thousand Ways to Say I Love You**

Time Lords are NOT superstitious. Really.

They can be terribly romantic, though, when properly inspired.

...

5. Always speak in English and stop lazily lapsing into Gallifreyan; the TARDIS translator circuit is shut down with the rest of the nonessentials.

…

9. Be nice to Jackie, even if she's not nice to you.

10. Never speak ill of Jackie behind her back, either, even though she speaks ill of you behind yours.

…

18. She wants a farmhouse. Get her a farmhouse.

19. She wants ice cream. Get her ice cream. Neapolitan, thanks for checking.

…

25. Play with Tony – that's easy, he's adorable. Haven't had a kid to play with in, oh, four hundred-odd years?

…

38. Start wearing socks.

39. Pick up your socks.

…

52. Keep the fire burning. No, the one in the fireplace, dolt.

53. Keep _that_ fire burning, too. That one's more fun.

…

61. Bring her a flower every day. The wild ones are better.

…

84. Take out the trash without being asked. Apologize that it took four months to realize that without a TARDIS, trash must be taken out by hand.

…

87. That's the spot. Right... _there._

…

No, Time Lords are not superstitious. It was a simple, romantic list of ways to say I Love You, begun almost as a joke: can you think of a thousand?

But then.... an idea crept into the back of his mind. He dismissed it, irritably, but it kept creeping back.

_If I can make it to a thousand, maybe... maybe Fate will be pleased, and leave us alone._

…

106. Baby chicks are cute. Puppies are even cuter, and belong on a farm, too.

…

112. Rub her feet.

113. _Then_ you can maybe rub other parts.

…

125. Why did it take so long to remember the ritual of Breakfast In Bed?

…

_Please, Fate, please leave us alone. Humans live such short lives. I've given you so many centuries, offered my life, my hearts, my sanity, countless times. Can't you give me just one human lifetime?_

…

159. Give her the final vote on the baby's name.

160. Decorate the baby's room however she wants.

161. Learn how to hang wallpaper properly.

162. Clean up those paint spills without being asked.

…

_Please...._

_._

_._

_

* * *

**A/N:** __I think the Doctor needs a little help. Any ideas? :D  
_


	6. Battlefield 2

**Battlefield 2**

The internet was no bloody help at all.

"How to Catch a Chicken." Right. All leg hooks and luring them into pens with feed and gaining their trust so you could gently pick them up behind the wings. Pfui.

He didn't have a leg hook, wasn't going to gain the monster's trust any road, let alone take the time to do it, and "gently" was the last adjective he had in mind.

What about natural enemies?

Foxes? None around here, and they'd likely get the hens, too. He didn't want the hens to go; he was getting rather fond of the fresh eggs. They really do taste better!

Dogs? See above.

Hawks? Same again.

For the first time in his long life, the Doctor seriously considered buying a gun – a shotgun. With nice, big, chicken-killing shot.

And then....

Old Mr Hastings finally came through for him. Digging through the piles of junk in what was once the dining room (and by the grace of Rose would soon be again), he came upon the solution. Smiling to himself, he gathered it up with its associated gear, and carried it out to the barn, ostensibly to be used for its advertised purpose at some future date.

Oh, the stars were smiling on him at last! Not a week later, his chance finally came. Donna and Rose wanted to hit the big antique fair (weren't there enough antiques right here?), and Mike volunteered to go, too. John begged off, claiming to want to try out that 'gear' in the barn. So off they went.

He watched them pull out of the drive, and then began a leisurely stroll around the grounds, scoping out the enemy's position: in the back yard, out in the open. Perfect.

His 'casual rambles' took him into the barn, where he quietly removed the gear from storage and extracted the piece he needed, then he leaned it up against the wall just inside the barn door. He rechecked his preparations, slowly made over the preceding days, blocking off all the other possible exits, and then opened those big barn doors wide.

Resuming his leisurely stroll, he wandered over to the chicken feed bin, and pulled out a huge scoop, making sure it was mostly corn kernels. He spread that around on the floor in the center of the barn, and then made a trail out the door and partway towards the yard, carefully measuring it out – not too much (no telltale leftovers post-operation) and not too little (enough to make a proper lure).

Replacing the scoop, he meandered around the edge of the yard to the side opposite the barn. Sir Robert and the hens were still clucking around the grass in the middle, looking for bugs, the rooster keeping a fierce eye on his enemy. Then, John began the most difficult phase: carefully nudging the chickens towards the barn. It took ten minutes of aimlessly wandering back and forth, as many yards from the rooster as he could manage so as not to spook him off, before one of the hens finally discovered the trail, announcing it to the others with a loud, triumphant cackle. Within seconds, the feed was being devoured by all the hens. Sir Robert hung back, suspicious – John simply stood still, gazing out away towards the pond, letting him make up his little chicken mind.

Finally, finally, the rooster took the bait. He strutted over to the hens and pushed several out of the way, bending over and pecking at the corn, and darting back up to check on the situation. John began slowly drifting towards the barn, angling a bit one way and then the other to encourage the flock into the dim recesses. Most of the birds went willingly, following the trail – when the first one (the same adventurous boss chook as before) discovered the piles of scratch he'd left inside, it was a done deal. Sir Robert, casting one last suspicious gleam towards the Time Lord, followed inside.

The trickiest part of the operation was next: closing both the doors without the prey escaping. He managed it quickly – the oil he'd put on the hinges the day before helped. Then he grabbed the gear and began the final stalk, slowly, gently nudging the rooster into the corner between the high horse stall walls and the first rank of hay.

At last, the rooster was positioned perfectly. It hadn't taken him long to catch on to John's maneuvering, and was preparing to launch a counterattack from his corner with beak and claws, wings extended.

Too late. The long-handled fishing net swooped down, at just the right angle – nine hundred years of experience do leave one with _some_ skills – and the enemy was captured.

Several hours later, the antiquing trio returned, finding John finishing a snack and cleaning off the fishing gear, including the long-handled net. "Catch any fish?"

"Not this time."

"Have you seen Sir Robert? He's usually out in front to greet us."

"Nope," he said, taking the last bite of the drumstick and tossing it in the trash. "Not a feather."

Two days later, Donna's charm bracelet was sporting a tiny gold chicken. If John's usually-sharp eyes ever noticed it, he never let on. Nor did he ever admit to having anything to do with Sir Robert's disappearance.

The following spring, a new batch of chicks was procured to supplement the year-old hens. Again, one of them grew into a rooster, but he must have been warned off by the older biddies, because he never came near John, and never once did he crow up the sunrise under his window.


	7. Two Quests and a Concert

**Two Quests and a Concert**

Question: What do you get when you let not one but _two_ temporarily displaced (and slightly bored) Time Lords loose in a very large, very well-stocked kitchen?

Answer: The Beatles.

As so many adventures do, it started on a whim, and a craving. The whim was Mike's, and it was innocent enough: a quest for the perfect mug of hot cocoa. Of course, when you're a Time Lord, _nothing_ is quite as simple as it might seem at first blush.

Dutch cocoa, German cocoa, Swiss, American, Mexican. Supermarket brands and gourmet mail-order. Bars and chunks and powders and liquors. Milk and cream and water. Six different kinds of sugar. Whipped cream and marshmallows and Irish whiskey and coffee liqueurs. Thick pots and double boilers and microwaves, whisks and spoons and ladles. The only thing that remained constant were the big ceramic mugs to hold the results of each experiment.

After many a dirty pot and many a chocolatey mustache, the perfect mug was indeed achieved. And I'm sorry to inform you that I've been sworn to secrecy regarding its recipe – for which I traded the location of the very last banana grove on Paxiflorian. Sorry.

Be that as it may, very late one night, after having spent the evening before sipping on a mug of said perfect hot cocoa, the craving struck. And struck hard. It struck not a Time Lord, nor a half-Time Lord, but one very pregnant redhead.

The following morning, John and Rose meandered into the kitchen to find Mike sitting beside the table, head in hands. He looked up, blearily, and said, "Just kill me now. Please."

"What's wrong?"

"She's craving. And it's all my fault."

"Um, pardon?"

"I shouldn't have cut off her memories when I did. I should have cut them off two days before that. Just one. A couple of hours would have done!"

The couple looked at each other, mystified, and sat down on either side of the expectant father. "What in the world are you blathering about?"

"I cut off her memories just before the incident with the fortune-teller on Tsing-bok-dao. When she created the alternate timeline."

"Seems appropriate. But why...?"

"Because I cut them off just _after_ we had that foamy drink. What was it called? I can't even remember. But now she's craving it. Badly. And I have absolutely no idea how to make it." A thought struck him, and he glared at John. "Actually, it's _your_ fault. Why did you take her there, anyway? You can't blame _me_ for that one!"

"Uh, Mike? _I'm_ not the reason she's _got_ cravings."

"Oh. Right." He sighed again, pathetically. "Please help?"

John grinned. "The two words I never refuse."

Thus began the second quest: to replicate that... what was it called? They never did remember the name, and took to calling it Foamy Stuff.

About an hour into the conversation regarding possible ingredients that very first morning, Donna wandered in. She looked a bit confused about the whole thing, then suddenly brightened and joined in enthusiastically. Rose snorted, and a short time later got her off to one side. "You're not actually craving it, are you?"

Donna grinned wickedly. "I wasn't before. But it _was_ good."

A week or so later, Mike dipped the results of the latest experiment into a pair of mugs, giving one to John. "It's not there yet – but I think we're getting closer."

John agreed. "This is actually pretty good!" They grinned at each other, then Mike handed his mug off to Donna, just coming into the kitchen with Rose. "Try this, love."

She took a sip, then choked slightly. "Blech! Are you trying to poison me? That's _terrible!"_

"_Whaaat?"_ Mike wilted, dejected. "Oh, Donna." Suddenly, he got a sly look on his face, grabbed the catsup bottle off the table, and began to sing, using the bottle as a microphone.

_Oh, Donna, please believe me!_

_Doo-dee-doo-doo_ intoned John, playing air guitar beside Mike.

_I'll never do you no harm!  
Believe me when I tell you-OO!  
I'll never do you no wrong!_

He leaned over to John, sharing the catsup "mike", as they both swung into the chorus, John providing the falsetto cry.

_When you told me - OOO! - you didn't need me anymore  
Well you know I nearly broke down and cri-i-ied!  
When you told me you didn't need me anymore  
Well you know I nearly fell down and di-i-i-i-ied!_

John went back to verbal air guitar while Mike continued on, bellowing out the high notes.

_Oh! Darling, if you leave me  
I'll never make it alone!  
Believe me when I tell you  
I'll never do you no harm!_

John slowed down for the final licks, and they both twanged out the last two chords, then gazed expectantly at their audience.

Who were literally rolling on the floor, howling, tears streaming down their faces, holding their sides.

"I don't think they like our singing!" Mike commented, wounded.

"Well, we _did_ lose out on the fourth spot to Ringo," reminded his twin.

"True." He picked up the mugs again and handed one to John. "Drink?"

"Cheers!"


	8. Double Weirdness

_This dreary chapter wasn't _caused_ by SilverWolf7's story; I'd been thinking about the subject for a while, anyway. Well, maybe he did nudge it a bit. _

.

* * *

**Double Weirdness**

"You know, I've been thinking about it, and I've decided that I'm actually glad there wasn't a copy of me in this universe," Donna remarked one evening as they sat around the living room. "I don't think I could handle it. I mean," she turned to Rose, "what if you were just walking down the street one day and turned a corner, and there you were! What would _you_ do?"

"Hide my man, first off – I know how predatory she'd be." Rose laughed, and glanced sideways at John, teasing.

"Oh, lord preserve us," put in Mike. "What would you do with _two_ Roses?" he asked his twin.

Trapped, John froze, an x-rated thought visibly crossing his face before he could stop it. As the other two hooted laughter, Rose narrowed her eyes and told him, "Say that out loud and I'll kill you."

So he tipped his head back and surveyed the ceiling, trying hard to find that innocent look he used to be so good at. "I think this ceiling needs painting."

Mike and Donna simply laughed harder, while Rose crossed her arms and glared. After several seconds he realized she wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily, so looked at her levelly and said, "No worries. She wouldn't be _you_. She wouldn't have your memories of what we've done and where we've been, and everything you've been through in your life that made you who you are, and who I fell in love with. It's our memories and experiences that make us what we are, not just the faces we wear." Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "And you're the _only_ woman I want in my bed. Period."

She decided to forgive him and laughed, leaning in to his kiss and then settling back into his arms. He couldn't resist, and added, still whispering, "Besides, I've got my hands full with you – two of you would _kill_ me!" She elbowed him at that, but not too hard.

"That's what I mean, though," Donna said, sobering. "I don't know how the two of you manage it." She looked back and forth between the two versions of the Doctor. "I don't know which would be weirder, having a duplicate me around that _did_ have all my memories, or one that _didn't._" She shook her head.

"Well, it's not the first time I've run into myself. I guess I've got a bit of experience, don't I?" Mike grinned.

Rose was puzzled. "You've done this before? You mean you crossed your own timeline? I thought that would be disastrous – let in the Reapers and all that."

"Not necessarily," John answered. "You've got to be extremely careful not to create paradoxes – or at least, not major ones. And the way it works – has worked, anyway – I don't always remember what happened before when it happens again. If you know what I mean." He looked over at Mike. "This is definitely the first time it's gone on this long, though. But then, we're not in a time loop, so this is completely different."

Mike nodded. "There's a whole _bunch_ of things different about this situation. One, and most important: it's not a time loop, we're actually different people now. I have no memory of sitting there where you are talking to me over here – and vice versa. Two: we're the same regeneration, wearing the same face. I think that's the first time that's happened. C – no, three: it's a long-term thing, like you said. Before, it's only gone on for a day or two at most. And last and weirdest: we're actually getting along. I think."

"Why is that weirdest?" Donna wanted to know.

"Because, to be honest, when I've run into different regens, I don't usually like myself very much."

"Why? Because you're different? Or because you're the same?"

The two men looked at each other, thinking it over. Introspection had never been the Doctor's strong suit, but the current situation, sidelined on the slow path, had changed a lot of things about his life. "Both," they answered at the exact same time, then after a beat, gave the identical chuckle and looked away at their women.

Rose and Donna exchanged weirded-out glances. "That's what I meant," said Donna. "That would drive me _mental_."

Rose nodded agreement. "Speaking of mental, though. A psychologist would have a field day with him, wouldn't they? About not liking himself?"

John grimaced at his wife. "It's not all _that_ bad. Put it this way: have you ever seen an old picture of yourself, wearing some strange outfit or hairstyle, and all you can say is, 'what was I _thinking?'_ It's like that."

Mike laughed. "Literally. You've both been through the TARDIS wardrobe. Haven't you ever thought about that? Most of the clothes in there I actually wore at one time or another – well, the men's clothes, anyway. And some of the weirdest were my favorites at one time or another."

Donna then asked Rose, "Didn't you tell me you'd seen him regenerate once? I mean, completely, not the aborted one that made Mike?"

(Mike turned to John, "Did she just call me an abortion?" John cracked up, "I am so not going there....")

Rose nodded. "Yeah, when I first met the Doctor, he looked completely different." She gazed teasingly at John, tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth. "Those big ol' ears...." He rolled his eyes at her.

"Did he change inside, too, though? His personality?" Donna pressed. The idea was bothering her, underneath.

Mike sensed it, and squeezed her shoulders. When she looked at him, he shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere," he reminded her quietly. "I can't regenerate."

She gazed at him, and slowly her eyes cleared – until she remembered the other two in the room. She looked back at the other couch, to see both of them half-turned towards each other, but both staring down at the floor, as if afraid of what they might see in each other's eyes.

After a minute, John looked back at Donna, sadly. "That's why I didn't want to regenerate the last time. I _do_ change. It's like a death. It's like I've been ten different men during my life, that all read from each other's books, but..."

Rose looked at him, then, tears in her eyes. "Are you saying that when you regenerate again, you won't... " She couldn't say the words.

He couldn't quite meet her eyes. "Time Lord marriages always automatically ended whenever one of the two regenerated. And it was very, very rare for the couple to get back together again afterward."

She pulled away from him. "You didn't answer my question," she whispered.

He forced himself to look at her, then. "Rose. I will _always_ love you. You will _always_ be a part of me, for the rest of my life. But... it won't be the same. I won't love you the same way I do now. And _I'll_ be different – you know that. The chances that I'll still be someone you can love at all, let alone as much as you love this me, are..." He couldn't finish that sentence. "You have no idea how incredibly lucky we both were, that you ended up with me the last time. We won't be that lucky again."

She closed her eyes with a small moan, and came back into his arms, holding him tightly. He wrapped both arms around her and held her close, the most precious thing in his universe.

Donna had tears in her own eyes. She turned to Mike, "I'm sorry I even brought it up."

John heard her. "No." He looked over at her. "Some things do need saying – even if they're painful. That much I've learned."

Rose took a deep breath, and pushed back to look him in the face again. "And on that note... I want you to promise me something."

He started to shake his head. "I can't promise not to regenerate, Rose."

"That's not what I'm asking. I know you can't control fate, or chance. But you can control your actions. And I want you to promise me that when the inevitable happens, you won't just disappear. I want you to promise me that you'll stick around, at least long enough to give me a chance. To give US a chance. Promise me... for the sake of our son, if not for my sake."

He stared at her sadly, a single tear escaping down his face. He glanced down then, at her hands resting on his chest, and picked up her left hand, bringing her wedding ring up to his lips and kissing it, reminding her of everything he'd already promised.

"OK," he said. "I promise. I'll stay beside you, until you tell me to go. If you will promise me in return, to always be honest. Don't hang on, if all you're hanging on to is memories of how we used to be. Don't keep me when it's too painful to even look into my new face, when you can't stand to have me touch you. When that day comes, _if_ it comes, promise you'll release me."

Tears were now streaming down both their faces. "I promise," she whispered.


	9. Remember Elizabeth

**_A/N:_**_ Something a little lighter today, to make up for the dreary mood I was in yesterday. Sorry 'bout that._

.

* * *

**Remember Elizabeth**

Shortly before Christmas, about three weeks after the reunion in Corfu, Pete's battered old jeep turned at last into the drive leading to the foursome's new home: the old Hastings estate, tucked away on a tiny back road outside a tiny little village somewhere in the countryside north of London. Rose and John had returned after just a few days on Corfu the same way they'd come down: via zeppelin, to take care of the business end of the purchase. Mike and Donna, however, took the scenic route back up through eastern Europe, Austria and Germany, completing their Grand Tour. "Who knows if we'll ever get another chance like this?" said Mike.

"You just don't want to stop traveling," accused his wife.

"Well.... not just yet, no."

She grinned, letting him off the hook. "Me, neither. _Allons-y!_" So off they drove.

All things come to an end, however, and they _had_ promised to get there by the holidays, so they kept the jeep's grille pointed more-or-less northwest, and made it on time – though they did have to cut it short and bypass most of Germany. Mike didn't complain there, though; one thing that _wasn't_ different between the worlds was the complete lack of speed limits on the Autobahn. Donna just held on tight.

"Now I know why I'm glad the TARDIS doesn't have windows," she was heard to mutter.

They pulled up in front of the old farmhouse, and sat for a moment, drinking it in. It was an old, run-down, ramshackle affair, built on over the centuries in wildly differing styles: bricks here, fieldstone there, wood and daub and glass. Donna fell for it as fast, and as hard, as Rose herself had a few weeks earlier.

The lady of the house came out of the front door then, grinning hugely, waving them in. "Welcome home! Isn't it _gorgeous?_"

"Oh. My. God. How did you _find_ it?" Donna gave Rose a swift hug, and then one to John behind her.

Mike was still staring up at the facade. "Now _that..._ is a whole lot of history."

"You don't know the half of it. Wait till you see what's inside." John told him, wryly.

A quick tour – quick because they couldn't get very far into any of the rooms – revealed the extent of the mountain of history that had come with the property. Rose explained how she had bought the place As Is, with all the contents, precisely because of those contents. "Like you said outside, Mike – a whole lot of history. I'm just itching to dig through it and see what we find."

"But what are you going to _do_ with it all? Start our own junk shop?" Donna wanted to know.

Rose paused for dramatic effect, a sly grin sliding across her face. "Nope. Sell it on eBay."

"Say what?" came from both men, so she had to explain about the online auction website (which rather ruined the punchline). They looked at each other, then, and began grinning too.

"Now _that_ is a _fantastic_ idea." John said.

"Is that what you meant about eating money not being a problem?" Donna asked.

"That and how Torchwood still wants me to come in a couple of days a week," Rose replied.

"But only till the baby comes," her husband admonished her. Rose rolled her eyes at Donna for his overprotectiveness, but she definitely wasn't complaining.

So they quickly settled into a pattern, the four of them working together on a room for a few hours each morning, sorting out the antiques from the rubbish, figuring out what each item was and how much it might be worth, cleaning it up and taking a picture, cataloging it on the computer, and adding it to their eBay listings. Then an hour for packaging and a run to the post office to ship off purchased items to the winners, and they had the rest of the day off to play with the things they decided to keep, and other hobbies.

High on the list of those other hobbies was fixing up the spacious old kitchen, and then making use of it. Rose decided early on that she wanted to learn how to cook, and having two versions of one of the universe's most experienced cooks on hand to teach her just made it even more fun. Amazingly, she discovered she had an aptitude for it, and quickly progressed past grilled cheese sandwiches to exploring the world's cuisines. Not that every meal came out perfect – she'd never live down the burnt popovers, especially since they set off the newly-installed smoke detectors, nearly causing John a double heart attack – but those failures quickly became rare occurrences rather than routine events.

One bright spring morning, early on in the process of de-junking the house, they were just starting on the front sitting room, and discovered that most of the mountain of boxes therein contained books – hundreds and hundreds of books of all kinds.

"It's going to take _weeks_ just to catalog all these!" Donna groaned. "Let alone figuring out what minimum price to set!"

Mike turned to grin at her, but then an idea struck him. Eyes going wide with dawning excitement, he drew a deep breath to share it – but John, sitting a few feet away with his back turned, spoke up instead: "No, we're not going to sell these books. They're going into the TARDIS library!"

Mike jerked around and stared at the back of his twin's head, slowly wilting. He shut his mouth and started to turn back to his box of books.

Rose had seen the whole thing, though. "Mike? What is it?"

He shrugged. "Nothing."

Rose exchanged a puzzled glance with Donna, then sat back from her own box and turned back to Mike. "It's not nothing. What is it?" Catching her tone, John turned to look at him, too.

Mike tried to ignore them, continuing pulling books out of his box to see what they were.

"Mike?" John wasn't having any of that.

Finally, Mike looked up at John, expression unreadable. "You know, it's funny," he said after a minute. "All of a sudden, I feel like the younger brother – the ne'er-do-well younger brother, at that." He shook his head. "I just don't know how to deal with this sometimes."

"I know that feeling," his twin replied. He turned to Rose. "You remember what you told me that Christmas, after the Sycorax? That my hand gave you the creeps? I know _exactly_ what you mean – it gives me the creeps now, too, sometimes." He looked sideways back at Mike, his expression half-grimace, half-smile.

Mike stared a moment, then his face slid into a chuckle, and he made as if to throw a heavy book at his twin. "I'll give you the creeps...."

John chuckled back, then shook his head and made a vague go-ahead gesture. "So what was...."

Mike sat back on his heels, and glanced around at the other three. "Well, I had an idea," he began tentatively. He looked at Rose. "I know these are really _your_ books, but..." She shrugged, then motioned to him, encouraging him to go on. "You remember the conversation we were having, when you discovered us on Corfu? We were talking about doing something to build a life, to make a living." He'd turned to Donna, who nodded, remembering. "Well.... what do you think about a little shop? A used book shop?"

Donna's eyes began to glow with excitement. She took a long, deep breath and slowly smiled. "I _love_ it. That's a _fantastic_ idea. Yeah."

Mike turned back to the other two, hope on his face – which turned to relief at their answering smiles.

John had a question, though. "Are you talking about here, or the other universe?"

"The other one – back home."

"All right then. Plenty of room in the TARDIS to store all these." A thought struck him then, and he pointed an accusing finger at Mike. "You're not _touching_ the TARDIS library, though!"

"Oh, come on! You've got duplicates! Lots of them, and you know it! Just give me those!"

A beat, and John laughed. "OK, all right! You can have the duplicates! Just make sure they really are duplicates, though! Don't go stealing any single copies!"

Mike looked wounded. "See what I mean?" he said to Rose. "OK, _big brother._"

Donna had been thinking – she'd been in that library numerous times. "But only those that were printed _on Earth_, and _before now!_ Nothing out of time, thank you!"

Everyone nodded, and then Rose put in, "Speaking of which, you need to be careful with this lot, too. Make sure they have the same text as the ones in our universe! Remember Elizabeth Bennett?"

The others snorted, remembering the discovery of the very different outcome of _Pride and Prejudice_ in this world, then John laughed again. "That sounds like a battle cry." He put his hands to his mouth like a megaphone, and called out, like an echoing charge, "_Remember Elizabeth!_"

The others laughed back, but then Mike stopped, a funny look on his face. "Actually, that sounds like a great name for the shop. _Remember Elizabeth._" He turned to Donna, eyebrows raised.

"Are you serious?" She asked, incredulous, and he nodded. Her look softened, and she began smiling, finally nodding back. "Yeah. I like it. _Remember Elizabeth._"

And so it was settled.


	10. Surprises

_**A/N:** Oh SQUEE! I finally figured out how to squeeze a happy ending from The End of Time - I've been so afraid that I was going to have to kill somebody off. Unfortunately for you lot, you'll have to wait to find out my solution till after I've done with the Traveler. In the meantime, though, I'm celebrating with this bit of fluffery and tribute. Enjoy!_

.

* * *

**Surprises**

One fine spring morning John walked into the kitchen and found Donna surveying the cabinets with a rueful expression. "Trouble?" he asked.

"I want something different for breakfast, but I don't know what," she sighed.

He grinned sympathetically, and reached past her for the coffee – then suddenly stopped, arm outstretched, and looked sharply down at her, staring into her eyes from a few inches away.

"What?" she asked, startled.

He didn't reply, just eased back a few inches and kept staring intently.

"You're scaring me, Spaceman. _What?"_ Still no reply – but his mouth twitched.

"What's going on?" came Mike's voice from the doorway, halfway between amused and concerned.

Donna turned to her husband, exasperated and a tiny bit frightened. "Beats me. Spaceman here just keeps staring at me. Tell him to stop it!"

John finally took his eyes away from Donna's, turning them on Mike, instead. Still he said nothing, just raised his eyebrows at his twin, significantly, waiting.

"What?" Mike's turn to be perplexed.

John rolled his eyes, then with a kind of "OK, let's try this again" expression glanced briefly at Donna, then turned back again to Mike expectantly. Finally he spoke, "You're slipping."

Completely mystified now, Mike walked over next to the pair and turned to study his wife's eyes. Suddenly his jaw dropped, and he _stared._

She took a quick step back. "OK, now you're both scaring me. _What is it?_"

Mike stepped up right next to her, and brought up one hand, resting it low on her belly, while a look of wonder and delight swept over his face.

It only took her a beat. "I'm _pregnant?"_ came her incredulous whisper.

All Mike could do was nod, and then they were wrapped around each other, laughing and crying for joy simultaneously.

After a minute, they turned to share it with John, but stopped at his amused expression. He looked at Mike and said, "You're still slipping. Look again."

Slightly worried now, even though John's face didn't show any alarm or sorrow, Mike turned back to Donna _again_, placing his hand back on her stomach with an air of intense concentration.

Slowly his jaw _really_ dropped, and he raised his eyes back to John, whose face finally cracked a grin. Mike gulped and whispered, "_Two?_"

The grin got wider, and he held up two fingers. "Two."

Donna gasped. "Two _what?"_ When they both turned to her, slightly mystified that she hadn't caught on, she shook her head. "Two _babies_, or two _hearts? _Twins or a Time Lord?"

Mike gulped again, smile fading, and he started to move back towards her for yet another exam, but John chuckled. "Two babies. Hearts haven't developed yet." Then, shaking his head at Mike and smirking, he added, "You're hopeless."

Just then, Rose came into the kitchen, moaning and rubbing her back. She leaned sideways against her husband. "Please tell your son to stop kicking me in the liver." She was due any day, and really shouldn't have been out of bed. The human obstetrician they were consulting, through Torchwood, had put her on bed rest for the last month – although not absolute, he didn't want her on her feet for more than a few minutes a day.

John turned and pulled her into his arms, supporting her and rubbing her lower back at the same time. Sighing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder, then looked over at the other couple, noticing their happy expressions for the first time. "What?"

"I'm pregnant!" Donna sang joyfully.

"With twins!" Mike crowed.

Rose let loose her brilliant smile, and began to congratulate them, then winced, hard. "Owwww! Quit _kicking!_" She dropped her face back to John's shoulder. Quickly, he brought one hand around to her bulging stomach, concentrating, trying to soothe the baby back into peacefulness. As she winced yet again, though, his eyes grew huge and round.

"That's not kicking. That's a contraction! You're going into labor!"

She pulled back and stared up at him. "I'm wha- _OWWWW!_" And just then, with perfect timing, her water broke – which in turn kicked her contractions into high gear. She almost screamed as the next one hit, clutching her husband even tighter.

He wrapped both arms around her again for support. "Rose! Breathe! Breathe, sweetheart, that's it – otherwise you'll pass out."

Mike finally shook himself out of his shock and swung into action. "Donna – call Doctor Schoenfeld! Tell him we're on our way to hospital!"

John shook his head. "No time – this baby's coming _now!_" He stopped and forced himself to take a deep breath and speak more calmly so as not to alarm Rose, who was already halfway into hysterics – or would have been, if her contractions had let her. "Mike. Scalpel and clamps – and make sure they're sterilized, for heaven's sake. Donna. A very thick blanket, several towels and a pillow. Now!"

"_Here_?"

"_Here!_"

There was no time even to move her back to the bedroom. While the other pair scurried about, he turned back to Rose, rubbing her back and speaking soothingly, helping her breathe through the next few spasms, trying to project an air of calm – when inside, he felt anything but.

"Doctor?" she whispered, showing how frightened she was by using the old name rather than John. "I thought you said you'd never delivered a baby."

"Did I say never?" He managed to sound surprised. "Well, maybe it's been a while, but I wouldn't say _never_. Besides, why do you think I've been plowing through those medical books? No, shhhh, don't worry, darling. Everything's going to be just fine."

Donna came back first, arms loaded. "Right," John said. "Blanket – fold it in quarters, lay it out right here," nodding to the emptyish area between the large kitchen table and the door. She did so, then helped Rose out of her sweatpants and briefs.

He waited till another contraction had passed. "OK, sweetheart, onto the blanket. Just two steps, come on. Donna, help her feet. Good. Now, we're going to kneel on the blanket. Just let your knees go, and I'll ease you down. There we go! No, I've got you, I'm not letting go!" He then told Donna to put the pillow on the blanket between Rose's knees, with a towel on top, then asked her to check the progress.

"Kneeling? You're not going to lay her down?"

"For god's sake, why? That's the worst possible position, working against gravity! Now, please check!"

"Oh my god – I can see his head!"

"_Michael!_"

"I'm here!" came the reply. "Had to – nevermind." He joined the others on the floor. "All ready, _Doctor._"

John shot him a quizzical glance, but the title seemed to calm everyone down just that bit. "OK, sweetheart, everything's ready. It's all you, now. All you have to do is push!"

Less than five minutes later, a beautiful baby boy came into the world, gently caught by both Mike and Donna, who eased him down onto the pillow, and wiped off his face. As he took his first breaths and let the world know of his displeasure, Mike worked swiftly to cut the cord with the tools he'd retrieved from the TARDIS sickbay, then Donna gently wrapped him up in the waiting towel.

A short time later, mother and baby were both cleaned up and ensconced once again in her wide bed upstairs. John was leaning next to them, arms wrapped possessively around them both, smiling down at his son with stars in his eyes. Mike and Donna were perched, holding hands, at the foot of the bed. Doctor Schoenfeld had finally been called, and was on his way to check them both out – but Doctor John already knew they were fine.

"OK, Mum," John teased Rose. "You wanted to keep his name secret till he was born. Well, here he is. What's our son to be called?"

She smiled at him, dragging out the suspense for just another second. "David."

"David? I like that. That's a good name. Hello, David. Davey." He grinned down at the baby, nestled in her arms, enjoying his first meal. "Why did you choose it, though?"

"For that Shakespearean actor we saw, the one who looks just like you."

"What, the one who played Hamlet?" He turned to the other two. "Did he really look like me? Us?"

Mike shrugged, but Donna scoffed. "Dead ringer. I had to keep checking, every time he came on stage, to make sure both of you were still sitting with us in the audience."

"Really? Well, whatever. Still a good name." He turned back and gave Rose a tender kiss. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_. Don't know what I would have done without you." She quipped back.

"Oh, too right." He grinned, then sent it on down the bed. "And both of you, as well."

"I'd call that a good mornings' work, all right," Mike grinned back.

"Good practice," came John's reply. "Want to go for two next time?"


	11. Clouds in My Coffee

_**A/N:**__ Yeah, I know, I'm supposed to be working on The Traveler, but it's just not coming into focus very quickly. I think I'll be able to get the next bits up soon, though._

.

* * *

**Clouds in My Coffee**

Mike wandered into the kitchen, stretching and yawning, following his nose to the coffee John had already brewed. The man himself was standing at the sink, watching the morning begin outside the window while nursing his own cup. He didn't turn as Mike shuffled over and poured out another mugful, doctoring it with a bit of sugar and - "Where's the creamer?"

"We ran out two days ago, and nobody's gone for more. Bit thick this morning?"

Suddenly Mike had had enough. He rapped his cup down on the counter with a sharp bang, almost breaking it. "What is your problem?" he demanded.

John finally turned and shot him a surprised glance. "What?"

"You're always dogging me. Constantly. Would you rather I wasn't here?"

John looked truly perplexed, his eyebrows arching high. "I'm dogging you?"

"You know you are. And I truly wish you'd cut it out. I'm _Mike_, not _Mickey._" He waited a beat, then asked again. "What's your problem? You want me to leave?"

"No," came the reply, slowly – just slow enough to be thoughtful, not dishonest. "No. I don't want that. I..." John turned back to the window, eyes unfocused, staring into some inner space.

"Then _what?_" Mike pressed him.

John took a deep breath and let it out, face twisting into rueful perplexity. "I'm jealous," he shared his self-discovery.

"Of _me?_" Disbelief colored Mike's voice. His twin nodded. "Why?"

"Davey. Donna's coming twins. I'm jealous that you can father children and I can't. And I'm jealous that you can spend the rest of your life with Donna, but I can't spend the rest of mine with Rose. A normal life. I know, I know," as Mike drew breath to contradict him, "but sooner or later, something's going to happen, to me, to her.. and I'll be alone again, facing the centuries."

"With River." Mike reminded him.

He frowned, dismissing the idea with a shake of his head. "That doesn't help, and you know it. I'm not River's Doctor, and she means nothing to me now. The idea that maybe she will at some point won't fill the hole in my soul I know is coming." He shook his head again. "Look, I don't want to talk about all that. You asked for reasons, I'm giving them to you. I don't want to start psychoanalysis."

Mike gazed at him another few seconds, then turned and reached into the fridge for some milk in lieu of creamer, giving his twin a bit of breathing space. When he turned back, he found John glancing over again, this time with an ironic grimace. "And three, I'm jealous of your Grand Tour. I love this place, don't get me wrong, but to tell you the truth, the walls are starting to close in."

Mike snorted. "Christ, that's the easiest one to solve. Jeep's parked out front. Get in and take off! Take your own Grand Tour!"

John was astonished – and a bit hurt. "You think I'd just up and leave?"

It took Mike a second. "No, you idiot, I meant all three of you. You, Rose, and Davey. Donna and I can hold down the fort here for a while – it's months before she's due." He turned around and leaned backwards against the counter next to the sink, sipping his coffee.

Apprehension was still showing on John's face. "_And_ Davey?"

Now Mike was really getting amused. "People travel with babies all the time, you dolt." He glanced at the doorway. "Don't they?" he asked Rose, just entering with the subject of the conversation in her arms, Donna behind her.

"They certainly do!" Rose beamed. "Where are we going?"

Caught by surprise, John spluttered, and Mike jumped in with a grin. "His nibs was just telling me he's getting a bit of cabin fever, and I was trying to convince him to take off with both of you for your own Grand Tour."

"Ooooooh, that sounds wonderful! Can we?" Evidently Rose was feeling a bit closed-in, as well.

"I don't know," said her mate. "Can we? With the baby?"

"He's only three months old. Trust me, he's more portable at this age than he will be in another year or two. Have car seat, will travel!"

Suddenly John gave in, convinced, and he gave his huge, infectious grin to the kitchen at large, and his wife in particular. "Well, then, let's go! _Allons-y!_ Where would you like to go, love?"

They swung into a conversation about destinations and routes and seasons and what all to bring, which continued on through breakfast (waffles, thank you! said the pregnant lady). The subject of baggage, having to decide what to pack and how, was completely new to the Time Lord, and he became more and more amusedly bewildered. "Traveling certainly is easier in the TARDIS. Don't have to pack anything – it's all right there!"

"Even the kitchen sink!" quipped Rose.

"Hm. No kitchen in the Jeep," he realized.

"We could get an RV – a caravan. You know, one of those campers?" The men had honestly never seen one, under any name, so the women spent a bit of time describing them. "Think TARDIS on wheels, but not bigger on the inside, unfortunately. Everything's just squeezed in."

"Hey... I wonder..." A excited idea crossed John's face, then it fell. "No. Never mind."

"What?" they wanted to know.

He grinned. "I'd pictured putting the TARDIS in the back of a caravan, but it wouldn't work. It's shut down. Even just using the lights and the kitchen stuff would use too much power, power we can't spare."

"Damn. That would have been fantastic. All that room!" Rose in particular was crestfallen.

"Be nice if we could turn an ordinary camper into a TARDIS. Can you imagine it? A whole house on wheels! It'd be like Harry Potter's tent!" Donna pealed laughter.

"If only we had a transdimensional focus cube..." mused John.

"Well, could we make one?" asked Mike.

John's face twisted. "How? From what?"

"Ah.. Hm.. Oh well." Glum, Mike looked away from his twin, his gaze passing over the far side of the table – and froze. He reached over and nudged John, who was spearing the last bit of waffle from his plate. John looked up at him, then followed his gaze left – and froze too.

Rose was glaring daggers at him – he checked quickly to make sure she didn't have a weapon at hand. "What?"

Her glare deepened. "One word. A name. One you've heard before, in fact. _Torchwood._"

He perked up. "Torchwood has a TD focus cube?"

She shrugged elaborately. "I don't know. _Neither do you._ That's the _point._ The whole time we've been here, you've never _once_ gone with me to Torchwood, to meet the people there. Not _once_." Her voice had risen – she was definitely ticked off now.

Utterly confused, John waited a moment for her to continue, to explain, to make sense. When she didn't, he turned to Mike, who just looked at him like he should understand. Donna wasn't any help, either. He turned back to Mike. "Why is she so angry?"

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Bit thick this morning?" He managed to keep the sarcasm mostly out of his voice. "Well, let's see. At a guess, I'd say it's because she spent three long years stuck here, working with Torchwood to shoot herself back across realities just to find you – and if I know you, you probably never even acknowledged how utterly bloody brilliant, not to mention unbelievably brave, that was. And more, every time you refuse to even go visit Torchwood, you reinforce the idea that she, and they, aren't brilliant at all, but in fact rather thick and dim – absolutely ordinary." He snapped his mouth shut on the next sentence comparing their brilliance to "the _Doctor's_", not wanting to go too far, and turned to Rose. "Does that about cover it?"

She blinked back tears, and nodded. "Thank you, Mike," she said with quiet dignity.

John was dumbfounded. He looked from Mike back to Rose, his jaw hanging open. Was that _really_ how it appeared to her? Apparently so. He closed his mouth and swallowed, and started munching on humble pie. "Rose? Would you be interested in a trip to London today? I thought perhaps we could get a bite to eat, maybe see your dad – and then we could go by Torchwood, and you could show off Davey, and introduce me to everybody. I'd like to meet them, and see the place."

He watched her face, hopefully, but she wasn't looking very mollified just yet. Not at all, in fact.

Donna started talking to the ceiling in a little singsong, as if playing charades. "Two words, short. Frequently used when one wants to apolo–"

Oh. "I'm sorry. I'm really very, very sorry. I never intended to imply you were ever anything less than utterly brilliant – you _and _your team. Truly. You could _never_ be thick."

Rose gazed at him for a moment more, as if judging his sincerity. Then she reached over plucked Davey out of his baby seat on the chair beside her, then said airily, "I'll go get dressed," and walked out of the kitchen.

John puckered his lips and blew out a deep breath, relieved. Then he turned to Mike. "You, too," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I've been dogging you – I didn't even realize I'd been doing it. Now that I do, I'll stop."

Mike had been exchanging amused looks with Donna, now he turned back to John, surprised respect sliding across his face. "Thank you," he said, simply.

John nodded, and looked down the table to Donna at the other end. "Do I owe _you_ an apology for anything?" he asked wryly.

She laughed. "Nope! I'm fine!"

He rolled his eyes. "Thank goodness. You two want to come along?"

Mike looked iffy, turning the question wordlessly to Donna – but she shook her head. "I'd love to – but I think today would be better just the two of you and the baby. And John? Take her somewhere nice for lunch, too."

"Yes, ma'am!"

^..^

"So how'd it go?" Mike asked John that evening.

"Actually, I was very pleasantly surprised. They really are a good group. Brilliant, even. And I was impressed by how they treated Rose – they were almost in awe of her. More than me, even. And Rose? Let me tell you, I saw a whole other side of her today. She was In Charge – and she was showing ME how things worked." He shook his head, ruefully. "I had no idea." He seemed to realize what he was saying, and turned an apologetic look on his twin. "Yeah, OK, you were right. Anything else I should know about my wife?"

Mike grinned. "You're asking me? That's for you to discover, isn't it? Did you find a TD focus cube, though, or something else we could use to make one?"

"Not a whiff. Guess we're going to have to 'rough it', after all. Still. It'll be different, anyway. Quite an adventure, no?"


	12. Author! Author!

_**A/N:** I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. Blame Professor Spork – his young A/U lovers gave me the idea.

* * *

_

**Author! Author!**

About halfway through the mountain of books in the sitting room, John opened up a box to discover it filled with children's science fiction books from three decades earlier.

Bad ones.

He sat thumbing through them, muttering under his breath. "Horrible plot. Stupid characters. Oh, you idiot, why did you do that? No, stupid, Slitheen don't eat people!" He looked up at the others. "These are terrible! Did people actually buy this crap? None of it is believable. Hell, I could do better than this!"

He picked up the next book and began to flip it open, only then noticing the dead silence in the room. Looking up again, he saw all three staring at him, grins beginning to crack their faces. "What?"

"So why don't you?" Rose asked him, trying not to giggle.

"What?" he repeated, sharper.

"Why don't you write some better stories?"

"_What?_" He looked at the other two, hoping to see them agreeing with him that Rose had gone round the bend, but no such luck. Mike and Donna both nodded enthusiastically. He turned back to Rose. "Me? Write books? For kids? About what?"

She snorted, exasperated at his density. "About your own adventures! Everything you've done and seen the last nine hundred years! Heck, not even that – you could just write about _our_ adventures, yours and mine, and yours and Donna's!"

"But..."

"Why not?" Rose demanded.

He turned to Donna. "Seriously?"

"Oh, hell yes," she replied. "I remember reading those books you're holding as a kid – even then I thought they were stupid. But they were the only thing out there. The stuff we've done – oh, it's a hundred times better!"

"But nobody's going to believe it!" John continued to protest.

"Of course not! That's the point! You wouldn't be writing them as nonfiction, you'd be writing fiction! _Science_ fiction!"

John turned to Mike, his last resort. But he didn't even bother asking, Mike was already nodding agreement with the girls. "You already wrote one book, remember? The Journal of Impossible Things? Why not just go on from there?"

John sat back, shocked that he was actually beginning to consider the idea. He glanced down at his pile of rubbish again, then suddenly gave in, grinning. "Oh, what the hell. Why not?" He swiveled and pointed a finger at Mike. "But I'm not doing this by myself, you know."

Mike grinned back. "Tell you what. You write, I'll illustrate."

And the girls cheered.

^..^

Thus began the new, instant publishing sensation to hit children's literature: _The Adventures of the Doctor and Friends._ The first volume to hit the bookstores, _The Doctor and the Autons_, was a runaway best seller, quickly followed by _The Doctor and the End of the Earth_ and _The Doctor and the Ghosts of Cardiff._

Soon the Smith Brothers (as they came to be called) were cranking out four or five books a year, astounding their publishers with their speed and inventiveness. They were hailed as phenomenons, and awarded the Schlotsky Sciffy Prize the first year.

They were even said to have outdone _Henry Potter_ (which made Rose and Donna wince every time they heard it. "I'll never get used to that name," whispered Donna. "It's just _so wrong."_ Rose nodded agreement.) in creating a fun new fantasy world for kids all over the globe. _Doctor Nobody_ fan clubs sprang up everywhere, the internet was ablaze, and soon you could buy everything from children's playhouses to salt and pepper shakers in the shape of a big green police box (for the originals were that color in this universe). There was even talk of a TV show – and that Shakespearean actor seemed to be everyone's first choice to play the Doctor, to the Smith's infinite amusement.

It didn't take long for them to get a little sick of the publicity, though. After a while, they couldn't go anywhere without being mobbed. Once, the foursome were simply trying to get a nice meal in a neighborhood restaurant – but they couldn't seem to get rid of one adoring, slightly dotty, middle-aged female fan, even after lying and flatly denying they were the authors. "Oh, I'm such a huge fan of the Doctor!" she kept squealing.

"Doctor who?" deadpanned John.


	13. Names

_**A/N: **If I could do a poll of Doctor Who fanfic writers, it would be to ask this: how many of you secretly have some actual name (or collection of syllables) in mind for the Doctor's true name? (*Raises hand* and I'm not tellin'!)_

.

* * *

**Names**

Mike bent over his artist's board, adding tiny details to the group of Slitheen grouped around the Prime Minister's desk in his illustration for the next _Doctor Adventures_, concentrating so hard that he didn't notice John sitting back, gazing speculatively at him.

"Mike..." came his soft voice.

"Yeah?" without looking up.

"I'm curious about something."

"What's that?"

"Your name."

"I told you, Rose came up with it on the beach."

"I'm not talking about 'Michael'."

Mike finally looked over his shoulder at his twin, curious. More out of lifelong habit than any current caution, John mouthed his true name rather than saying it aloud. "Does it still feel like your name?"

Mike straightened up from his board and leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. After a bit, he replied, "Yes and no. It's still me, but... I don't think it still has the same power. I mean, if somebody yelled it at me, it wouldn't be such a complete shock." He sent John an apologetic look for the scene outside the jail after John's release, then went on. "It's more like a seldom-used middle name, like Donna's Marie or Rose's Marion."

"Does Donna know it?"

"No. Does Rose?"

"Yes. I told her that first night, after you brought me back." He hadn't intended to bring that time up, but Mike had done it first. He dropped his eyes so Mike wouldn't see his next thought in them, that whenever Rose whispered it in his ear as they made love, it invariably sent him right over the edge.

"Well, there you go. Kind of sums it up, doesn't it?"

"Yeah..." John stared off into the middle distance for a bit. Then, "What about 'the Doctor'?"

Mike snorted. "That's easy. No. I'm not the Doctor, the Doctor's not me. It's you. I left that name behind on the sand at Bad Wolf Bay." He grinned, then grew puzzled. "It's weird, though – how quickly I took to the name Mike. It's been what, a year and a half? And I really feel like Mike. I don't even think about it." He turned it back on his twin, then. "But what about you, _John?_ How comfortable are you, really, with that name?"

"I've been John Smith before."

"Yeah, but never for _this_ long. Year and a half."

"True." A rueful grimace crossed his face. "I kind of feel like 'the Doctor' is on holiday. I'll likely go back to it when we get back to 'our' universe, though." He visibly backed up a conversational step, and waved a hand vaguely in the air. "This whole business is like a long holiday to me, like I've stepped completely outside myself and my life. Not that I'm complaining. It's been..." He grinned and flashed Mike a wink. "... _fantastic._"


	14. Teamwork

_**A/N:** This chapter by reader request. I'm always open to suggestions - you'd better hurry, though; it's almost time to bring our foursome home._

.

* * *

**Teamwork**

"So? What's it going to be, Spaceman? Is this world going to be graced with a _Doctor Nobody_ TV show or not?" Donna had finally cornered John in the living room, fixing him with a mock-fierce stare and asking the question on everybody's mind.

"I don't know. I just can't decide. I mean, I certainly have no desire to get involved with anything like that, but if I don't, and just sell the rights like everybody's after me to do, then I lose all control over what gets done. And that just doesn't sit right with me. Even though nobody in this world outside this room (except Pete and Jackie, of course) knows that the Doctor is _me_, I still just can't let somebody come along and start telling wild stories and changing the character all out of whack. At least with our books, I still have complete control over it." This, the longest speech he'd made about the subject, wiped the amused grins off the other three faces.

"I hadn't thought about it that way," Mike remarked thoughtfully. "Though... we're leaving in about three years. Can it really make any difference after that?"

"We _hope_ we're leaving. What if it doesn't work? Crap, Mike, even if you're not _the Doctor_", John's voice made air quotes, "now, you _were_ the Doctor at the time of the stories we're telling. They're your memories, too. Don't you feel that? Would you be comfortable if they started broadcasting crap like what they did to Winston last year?" They gave a collective shudder at the memory of the show portraying Churchill as a timid teetotaler partly under Hitler's thumb, and Mike shook his head.

"No, I wouldn't want to see that kind of smear job on me. You. Us. Not as long as we're around. After we're gone – yes, IF – they can do whatever they want – they will, anyway. But for now..."

John turned to Donna and Rose. "Or you two? 'Debbie' and 'Lily' would have even less protection than 'the Doctor'. They could – probably would – turn you into brainless, screaming floozies." They both shook their heads, and he sighed heavily. "The trouble is, we're going to have to do something, or somebody will come up with a thinly disguised version and run with it anyway – at least, that's what Whitley says." Whitley was their literary agent. "I'm just dreading getting into it."

"Didn't Whitley say the first thing you should do is get another agent, one specializing in television contracts? They'd be able to help you find the right path." As usual, Donna made sense.

So they did. Whitley put them in touch with Spencer, who came in with an unusual suggestion: hold a script contest. Any party wishing to vie for the honor of producing _The Doctor Nobody Adventures_ had to submit three scripts: one filmable version of one of their published books, and two original stories. The one with the demonstrably clearest understanding of their characters (and typical adventures) would win the rights – but John would maintain veto control over all scripts for the next three years. (By that time the character would be well enough established that even if they did remain stuck, they hopefully wouldn't be embarrassed by the show.)

Spencer even made it a blind contest: she had all the scripts sent to her office, and carefully removed any mention of their writers before forwarding them to the farmhouse, labeling each group of three with a letter instead. They ended up with eight trilogies to choose from.

And it ended up being no contest at all. For spot-on characterizations, well-written scripts (according to Spencer – and with twenty-eight successful years in the business, they decided to take her word for it) and two believable original plots (one of which was startlingly close to an actual incident from way back in the Doctor's sixth incarnation), C was the runaway winner.

John called Spencer to let her know, so she could arrange a preliminary meeting with whoever was behind the C. "_Who?_" he asked into the phone, getting the immediate attention of the other three. "You're kidding!" He was grinning broadly by that time, and they all but pounced on him when he hung up. "You are never going to guess who C is. Actually, it's a team of three: a writer, an experienced producer, and..."

"_Who?_" All three chorused.

"David McDonald."

"Hamlet?" "The actor himself?" "Davey's namesake?" They spoke over each other, and John just grinned and nodded. Rose then summed it up, "Oh, this is just _meant_ to be!"

_^..^_

Two days later, Rose answered the much-anticipated knock on the door, admitting the winning team to the farmhouse. She introduced herself, shaking hands with Rusty and Steve, then turned to David. Her reaction may not have been quite the one the actor was looking for, though, as she simply stared for a moment, eyebrows raised as high as they'd go. "OK, this is weirding me out." She shook herself, then turned and led them down the hall, saying "We're gathered in the kitchen, as usual – this way." Then she hollered ahead, "He looks even more like you two in person!"

Sharing puzzled glances with his two companions, the actor stepped through the kitchen door – and stopped dead, gaping at not one, but two mirror images of himself standing at the other side of the large table. John and Mike returned the favor, staring back with equal astonishment. "Whoa," Mike offered.

"Wow," said David.

"Yeah," John agreed. "I think he's a bit younger, though," he slipped sideways to Mike.

"Really?" came the reply. "I thought he looked older, myself." The twins gave each other their drollest looks while the girls groaned.

"Tweedledee and Tweedledum, I presume?" put in Rusty.

"Oi!" Mike protested, but he was grinning as broad as the cat.

Ice broken, introductions were made all around. Rose plucked eighteen-month-old Davey out of his high chair and presented him to his namesake, explaining how they had seen his _Hamlet_ and been gobsmacked at his resemblance to John and Mike, even in stage makeup – which also explained her strange reaction at the door. (Donna's twins were miraculously both down for their afternoon nap in the nursery.)

"You're serious?" David was unexpectedly touched. "You actually named him for me?" She nodded, grinning, and he shook his head. "Wow. Would've never expected that." He grinned at the toddler, squirming to get back to his lunch. "Good lad, knows what's important."

So the group settled down at the table to talk business over tacos and enchiladas (Rose was still in her Mexican culinary period). John was taking pains to make sure the television professionals understood his proprietary feelings about the characters they were proposing to bring to the broadcast audience, if not the reasons behind those feelings. Rusty, the writer, and David, in particular spoke at length about their understanding of _Doctor Nobody's _personality and history, though the conversation took some decidedly odd turns at times, as Rose or Donna, or both, contradicted the author himself about some points, informing him how the Doctor was viewed by other people. John looked quite uncomfortable, but ultimately conceded their authority, leaving the guests befuddled but pleased. Mike mostly stayed quiet, enjoying his brother's discomfort a bit more than might be polite.

Finally, over post-lunch margaritas, John came to the sudden, startling conclusion that he liked the trio – especially David – and trusted their vision. So he made the decision to come clean. "Come out back for a minute," he told them, picking up his margarita glass as he stood and motioning for them to bring theirs, as well. "I want to show you something."

He led them over to a corner of the garden, where, tucked into a nook between the back wall of the house and a large, overhanging tree, out of sight until they got right up to it, was a familiar blue wooden box. "The TARDIS!" cried David, delighted. "You actually had one made? But why is it blue, rather than green?"

"Because in _our_ universe, they _are_ blue. Or were." That remark netted him some strange looks, but was shrugged off. John pulled out his key and unlocked the door, stepping back and sweeping the visitors forward. "Go ahead. Take a look."

Glancing back at Mike and the girls, hanging back and unsuccessfully trying to hide their anticipatory grins, David stepped up and opened the door – and his jaw dropped (of course). He and the other two spent the next two minutes doing the typical, frenetic reaction, to the foursome's immense enjoyment – running in and out to check the dimensions.

Finally, they stopped, and David cornered John. "That's not possible. Not in real life."

"It is for a Time Lord."

"But..."

John grinned at the nonplussed actor, watching as realization warred with disbelief on his so-familiar face. "Now you're getting it. _I'm the Doctor. _Truly. I've been writing bits of my own history."

David shook his head. "You can't have been. Not if they happened on Earth, as you wrote. Because they _didn't._ We'd know about them."

"You're right, you would – if they'd happened on _this_ Earth." He sighed. "I realize that I have no proof to offer you on this, except for the TARDIS here. But here it is: we're from a parallel universe. We slipped into this one accidentally a couple of years ago, and we're hoping to get back in a couple more – we have to wait till certain conditions are right and the two worlds are aligned properly. Every story I wrote is true – it just happened in the other universe." He stared into the other's eyes for a moment, then sighed again. "Oh, all right." And out of his pocket he pulled his old stethoscope, handing it over. "Go ahead."

David knew what he meant; they'd mentioned the Doctor's two hearts over lunch. Slowly, slowly, as if afraid of the answer, he put the scope into his ears, and listened to either side of John's chest. The look on his face told the tale to the other two. He took a deep breath. "You're not human."

"Nope. Time Lord."

"You're the Doctor. You really are."

"Yup. Now you understand why I'm so concerned about how the Doctor is portrayed on TV – or anywhere else. You'd be playing _me_, David."

They stared at him for several seconds, then David took another deep breath. "Wait a second. If this is the TARDIS," and he hooked a thumb at it over his shoulder, "couldn't you take us for a ride in it somewhere? Or somewhen?"

John sighed again, very heavily. "I wish I could. I truly wish that. But you remember what I wrote about it in the first book? Where it draws its power? From the universe itself. And this one is on the wrong frequency. The TARDIS is almost dead. There's just enough power left in the batteries, if you will, for one jump – and that one _must_ be back to our own universe. That's why we can't jump ahead to meet the moment, but have to wait for it to come around. I'm sorry, but I'm not wasting the power we need to get home to take you boys for a joyride, not even as proof."

Shaking his head, David caught sight of the other three again, and another bit hit him. "Lily and Debbie, right? But.. what about you?" he asked Mike. "You're not in the books. Are you from here?"

"No, I'm from there, too. I came along quite recently, actually – we haven't reached that bit in the books yet. It's a long story."

Rusty and Steve had been hanging back, both listening intently, but also continuing to gaze longingly back inside the TARDIS, visibly itching to start writing about it, and building a mockup of it, respectively. "I have so many questions..." Steve murmured.

David heard him and turned, and the three of them looked at each other, the same thought on all their minds. David turned back to John, facing him squarely and earnestly. "Sir, I'd be honored to portray you, if you'll allow me to. And I give you my solemn promise that I will be as truthful and accurate in that portrayal as I can."

Slowly, John smiled, and he held out his hand to shake the actor's. "All right then." The other five cheered, and Mike went for champagne, which fueled the long afternoon's – and evening's – torchlight exploration of the powered-down TARDIS.

Rusty had the last word as they were getting ready to leave – a very quiet one, to Donna and Rose. "So yonder Time Lord is leery of how every Tom, Dick and Harry writer might treat him, warping his personality and his stories?" They nodded. "Understandably so. Word to the wise, though – if he doesn't already know about them, don't _ever_ tell him about fanfiction web sites!"


End file.
